The following story, JANGAR! Slaves of the Mind Mage, was originally released in eBook format on June 1st, 2026. I am offering it here for FREE as a taste of what each month of CLIFFHANGER! has to offer.
This is all in an effort to rebrand and produce a monthly digital magazine dedicated to the breadth of vintage-inspired Pulp Fiction. Every month, subscribers will receive a new JANGAR! novelette, a new short story, a Pulp (vintage or modern) Review, and soon, a monthly chapter of an ongoing Serial. All content found here will eventually make its way into paperback, alongside new art and Author’s notes for those of you who enjoy the feeling of a book in your hand.
Thank you and enjoy the Adventure.
1
Drums of the Ur-Men
JUNGLE DRUMS THUNDERED in time with Jangar’s beating heart. The primeval forest, typically teeming with all manner of life, had yielded its roars and caterwauls to the relentless rhythm of those terrible drums. Jangar, reared in these wildlands by wild things, knew well the drumbeat. The Ur-men, bitter enemy to all humankind, but especially the beast tribe of Jangar’s kin, had found themselves a sacrifice.
Upon silent pads, Jangar stalked through the undergrowth, a panther robed in human hide. Naked save for a broad belted girdle and pelt breechclout, he appeared more like a wild creature than any sort of man. True parentage eluded him. The only teat at which he’d suckled was that of a saber-toothed cat, his only patrician its fierce mate. He had mingled with true men and women before, jungle traders and their merchant caravans, other jungle tribes, but they often spoke to him guardedly, hushed with fear and awe. They saw him not as one of their own, but as a thing of the deep forest, for that was well the truth of it.
He followed the drum sounds and the stench of the Ur-men, which clung to their shaggy hides. The glow of guttering torchlight soon pierced the black veil of night.
Jangar came first to a stockade of jagged timbers. He scaled them easily, even with stone-tipped spear in hand. Peering over the rim, however, revealed a scene of abject terror. The village within was alive with undulating celebration. Broad-shouldered half-men pranced wildly about a central fire to the drummer’s beat. Others brandished crude instruments of murder in the thick jungle air, hooting and howling with savage lust. There were women, too, and children, all entranced by the throbbing sound. Near the fire, there gesticulated the black shadow of a dread witch-man, strange song slipping from fanged lips. In one hand, he waved a gnarled stick crowned in a shriveled human head. In the other, he clutched a sort of horn, but what purpose this primitive instrument served, Jangar could only guess.
The ape-men were not alone, however.
Trembling with fear, a clutch of human prey cowered in a cage of bone. They wore not the pelts and skins of jungle folk. Instead, he saw brightly dyed pantaloons, embroidered vests, and silken sashes. By Jangar’s reckoning, these must be caravanners who strayed too far from the trader’s track, or perhaps were ambushed by a raiding party while they rested unawares.
While a grisly fate would surely come for these captives, the danger was not immediate. The Ur-men’s eyes were focused on the central fire, where the witch-man pranced before a looming wooden spire. Tied fast to this bole was the writhing form of a beautiful woman wreathed in nigh-transparent strands of gossamer. By the look of all things, it seemed she was set to be sacrificed to whatever bestial god the man-things worshipped here.
Jangar studied the grim tableau. Beside his spear, a long, curved knife hewn from the fang of his feline father sat comfortably in a sheath at his hip. There were too many Ur-men for one warrior to handle, even one so fierce as Jangar. Occupied as they were, none had yet sensed his presence. Still, he could not peel his mind away from the captured strangers. Jungle beast though he was, he knew, too, that he was man. As such, he could hardly stand by and allow whatever awful death to take them.
With barely a whisper, he mantled the spiked fortification and dropped to the sodden earth. He slid silently between squat huts and carven totems hewn in hideous shapes. From a brazier at the village edge, he plucked a flaming brand. His idea was a simple one: set fire to the village and, in the ensuing chaos, free the captives and flee into the jungle.
Time, though, was not on Jangar’s side.
The witch-man paused his wild cavorting and placed to his mouth the curled horn. The sound produced was no musical note but a terrible roar. He had heard such guttural ululation before, though it had not been born from the pipes of any instrument.
The drumming ceased suddenly, and the dancers fell still. All was quiet, deathly so, aside from the pitiful mewling of the girl bound to the central stake.
Then came the trumpet’s answer, and Jangar’s blood ran cold.
A curdling howl rose from the crowd, and the drumming renewed at a fevered pace. The frantic beat was accompanied by a primitive chorus chanting in time a single brutal syllable.
“Thok!” they cried. “Thok! Thok!”
There came again the primordial roar, closer now, nearly beating at the village gates.
A dozen beast-men hauled at thick ropes to part the entry portal.
With thunderous footsteps, the creature called Thok appeared, framed ominously within the massive threshold. The reptilian giant stood on two legs, thick as boles, its three-toed feet hideously clawed. Atop a stout neck, the monstrous head was little more than a set of colossal jaws. Beady eyes roved the cheering mass, alive with ophidian intellect. Into the darkness stretched its bulk, tapering to a point at the end of a swishing tail. Strangest of all, however, were the pair of vestigial arms sprouting from the creature’s heaving chest. Despite this incongruity, the living god was a terrible sight to behold.
“Thok!’ the Ur-men cried again. Welcoming their god, the congregation parted to make a path. Thok did not hesitate to step forward, clearly accustomed to this ritual. With lumbering gait, he moved toward the central fire and the mere morsel of human flesh which awaited it there. The girl, understanding now exactly what doom came for her, screamed from her perch.
Jangar readied his spear.
2
Against the Gods!
CONFRONTED NOW WITH a bottomless well of teeth, Yala could do nothing but scream. She struggled against her bindings, but the work of the thick-fingered Ur-men was deft, and the ropes would not budge.
The gargantuan lizard lumbered near, relishing the wails of the ravening crowd.
“Thok!” they chanted. “Thok! Thok! Thok!”
The chorus was nearly as maddening as the sight which it summoned.
A massive head filled her swimming vision, a scaled snout that sniffed at her awfully. Thok’s fetid breath wafted over her in hot waves as it considered the meager offering. Yala shuddered to think what might happen next, should Thok find her flesh unworthy. Would she be left to the beast men for a meal?
Suddenly, Thok reared upward, muzzle nearly grazing the black canopy above. Parting its dagger-lined jaws, the jungle god bellowed a deafening roar.
Just as the clangor neared crescendo, Yala saw something streak through the firelit gloom.
A thrown spear struck Thok square in its corded neck. With such force was it cast that the point sheathed itself deep within even that armored skin.
Thok’s primal roar tapered to a pain-wracked yowl. Chaos erupted amongst the Ur-men as the enraged lizard king flailed about, tail thrashing, minuscule forelegs searching in futility to knock free the quivering shaft. One massive foot crashed through a hut, pulverizing whatever or whoever might still be inside. Another came down atop a fleeing Ur-man, his screaming drowned in a red gout.
The world grew suddenly brighter as flames leapt from hut to hut. This was not the work of the crazed monstrosity, but of a man who now emerged from the shadows near the palisade wall. In one hand was brandished a torch which he wielded like a painter’s brush, casting strokes of vivid fire. In the other was gripped a long, curved blade.
Amidst the chaos, the bestial witch-man spied this trespasser and uttered some indecipherable command. He attempted to rally his warriors, but they were too consumed with fear and flight to respond. The torchbearer saw this and cast aside the brand. He pushed through the seething mass of bodies like a bull mammoth, forcing aside shaggy bodies as he charged.
The witch doctor swung about his curled horn and placed it to his lips. Yala imagined the trumpet sound might pull Thok from its madness, though judging by the frenzy, it might also be a desperate ploy. He filled his barrel chest with humid air, then began to blow. The sound reverberated for an instant, but died as the ape-man’s gullet was split by the stranger’s blade.
The sorcerer dropped his horn and gnarled staff, gasping wetly for breath that he could not find. With a final gurgling heave, he sank to the mud, bloody foam about still lips.
Immediately, the jungle warrior turned to Yala, swinging his knife. She flinched away at the sight of brandished blade, but soon found her arms and feet free again.
“Thank you,” she said, taken aback suddenly by the warrior’s golden cat-like eyes. “Who are you?”
“No time,” he replied, accent brutish and thick. “We must leave this place.”
“What of the others?” Yala pointed between Thok’s stamping legs toward the cage.
“I will free them, but you must go! Now!”
“To where?”
Suddenly, there issued a resounding crack as Thok staggered fitfully through the stockade. Even the thickest walls bowed to the reptile god’s advance. Splinters rained upon the village, instantly burned to cinders in the spreading blaze.
“There!” he gestured toward the makeshift hole.
“How will I find you?”
“No, I will find you.”
With that, the warrior lunged headlong into the inferno, racing toward the other helpless captives.
Yala turned to run, but stopped suddenly. Her eyes were drawn to a strange object cast upon the quivering ground. There, beside the slain shaman, was the horn that had summoned Thok. Without second thought, she plucked it from the man-thing’s side and then fled into the dark.
THE CROWD DISPERSED in the wake of their angry god. Only a few scattered Ur-men hid amongst the burning ruins, cowering from the wrath of Thok. The mighty reptile had shaken free Jangar’s spear but had not exhausted all its rage. Presuming to see an opening, a half-man sprinted across the village yard only to be snatched from the earth, clamped between Thok’s powerful jaws.
The fire was spreading too, beyond control. Red tongues lapped at wooden fortifications and devoured squat huts like meals. The captives rattled their bone cage, frantic for freedom as the growing blaze threatened to consume them as well.
With Thok distracted momentarily, Jangar raced toward the cell, but his flight did not go unnoticed. Slack limbs still hanging from between its teeth, Thok turned and cocked its head in his direction.
There was no time to change course, and not even he could outrun the rampaging god. Instead, he barreled headlong toward the cage. The captives watched him with mounting terror. He understood instinctively that Thok’s attention had settled upon him. He would have only the span of a few heartbeats to free the prisoners and find cover, lest he become an offering as well.
Jangar slammed into the cage. He raised his fang-knife to hack at the cell door’s ropes and cursed when instead he found a brazen chain. The Ur-man understood not the working of metal into weapons and tools. Whatever they had in their possession was either stolen or scavenged from the dead. Jangar cursed the shade of whatever civilized merchant had brought this binding here.
The earth quaked behind him. The prisoners gasped.
“Hurry!” one cried.
“It’s coming!” called another.
Jangar did not reply, instead turning his hands to the bars. With a mighty wrench, he heaved at the thick bones that made up the cell. They groaned in protest against his natural strength, but would not budge.
A captive woman screamed as a black shadow fell over them. The prisoners pressed against the back of the cage as far as they could.
Jangar suddenly leapt aside.
Thok’s jaws snapped with the sound of cracking stone. The space where Jangar had been only moments before was now a ruin of splintered bone, the front of the prison cell now torn free.
The captives fled before Thok, and Jangar did the same.
The giant beast scanned coldly the scurrying ants and, with no effort at all, snatched up a man who straggled a mere two steps behind. Thok tossed the yowling man into the air with a thrust of his mighty head, then, in another instant, the captive vanished within the god king’s crop.
The village was a towering inferno now, and there was nowhere left to run or hide. The jungle offered relative safety, but with Thok so close to Jangar’s heel, escape seemed impossible.
Then, from beyond the wall of flame, there came a haunting, familiar sound: the roar of the Ur-men’s horn.
Thok paused midstride and craned its neck toward the sound. A red, wet tongue roved the reptile’s lips as it considered the song. The horn blew again, this time the peal longer and deeper. That call had settled Thok’s primordial mind. The giant reptile turned toward the source, pushed through the flames, and vanished into the silent night.
Jangar paused a moment, chest heaving.
Where had that call come from? Who had blown the horn?
“The girl.”
3
To the River
YALA FLED FROM Thok’s distant roar. Her plan had worked just as she imagined it would. Blowing on the horn, she drew mighty Thok from the others—and that strange man. The beast now searched for the source of the call, though she had run deeper into the jungle and in the opposite direction. The giant creature’s footsteps were a distant rumble now, and its cry was fading into the night. An unfortunate consequence, however, was that Yala was now utterly lost.
She pushed through the dense undergrowth as silently as she could, searching for any sign of the others, though even her most furtive efforts were a cymbal crash in the oppressive dark.
The forest here was ancient, so tall were the primeval trees that they blotted out even the dreaming light of Mother Mergo high above.
Never had Yala experienced such an impenetrable veil of black. Even on the darkest nights, the city of Qarn, shining beacon of mankind upon primal Thuul, was illumined by the lurid flames of countless torches, braziers, and smoldering lamps.
How else could the trade stalls, black market dealers, and merchant princes conduct their business at all manner of hour? Even the temples never slept, their altars and incense pyres ever burning in the shadow of the Peacock Throne.
Parting man-high fronds, Yala spied a dreamy silver glow emanating from the corpse of a fallen tree. Her heart raced as she peered through the foliage. The world was still; nothing moved in the shadow that she could see. The luminescence was familiar, its source and description she’d read about in the temple scrolls. Even here, in the deepest jungle, it seemed her initiate training might yet have a purpose to serve.
She dashed from the relative safety of the fronds toward the glow. As Yala neared, she could make out the shelves of white fungus emanating the wan ghost light. Night moths danced about in the gentle beaming, her presence hardly an interruption. She tore from her silken garments a wide strip and placed it in one open palm. With her other slender hand, Yala gently nudged a wide fungal cap, a shimmer of dust falling from the shelf and into the awaiting palm. Lost though she may be, the phosphorescent spores would aid her by staving off the darkness—if only just.
Satisfied with her harvest, she knotted the swatch into the small purse, then gave the contents a soft shake. Reacting to the disturbance, the fine powder began to gleam with unexpected iridescence. Yala allowed herself a grin of satisfaction, for a brief moment, she imagined she might live through the night.
She turned and was met with sudden resistance. She toppled backward to the sward, as though she’d run straight into a wall. The silver spores flared brighter, revealing neither brick nor stone, but something far worse.
In the gloam, there stood a primitive monstrosity, equal parts beast and man. The ape-thing must have followed her somehow, tracking her from the flaming Ur-man village. It glared down at her with a bestial glower, thick hands groping hungrily. Yala understood instinctively that she would not be dragged screaming back to Thok’s altar. There was bloodlust in this creature’s gaze.
She scrambled backward, but found no route with which she might escape. The bare skin of her back and shoulders pressed against the fungus-crowned trunk. She thought for a moment that she might blow the horn again, but knew that by the time Thok appeared, she would already be dead.
The Ur-man slobbered some unintelligible speech and pounced.
Then, from somewhere in the canopy above, came another figure. It fell atop the beast-man like a striking snake, thrusting a long, curved knife between the blades of its broad shoulders. The Ur-man howled briefly, but was silenced soon enough, brutish face driven into the moldy sward. It struggled some beneath the weight of the wild man standing atop its bulk, but the dagger had pierced its beating heart. Muscular arms flailed helplessly and then stilled.
“It’s you…” gasped Yala, recognizing immediately the jungle warrior. “You found me.”
“As I said.”
“But how?”
“With the racket you made, it was not a difficult thing.”
Yala felt her cheeks redden then, though it was hidden in the dreamy light.
Sheathing his knife, he proffered a scarred hand which she took without hesitation. He lifted her from the ground as though she weighed next to nothing.
“What is your name?” he asked bluntly.
“Yala, maiden of Mother Mergo.”
“The moon does not watch over you here, Yala. You must be more careful. What were you doing there?”
“The spores,” Yala said, brushing debris from her silks. “They are bright like a star when you need them to be. I thought to use them to light my way.”
“Way to where?”
Yala stuttered then, fully aware she had no sense of direction in this vine-choked place.
“Gather your things, Yala. We head toward the river Tharn. It will be safer there. With luck, in a few days’ time, we might find a merchant barge to take you back to wherever you came from.”
“I came from Qarn,” she said, “and I cannot go back.”
“While that may be the case, you cannot stay here. The jungle ill suits you, Yala. Gather your things, girl. We are leaving.”
Yala resented what the warrior had said, but knew well it had been the truth. She had been bred for creature comforts and marbled temple walls. The same comforts she’d fled at the last blackening of Mother Moon.
“What’s your name?” asked Yala, plucking the purse of powder and trumpet horn from where they’d fallen.
“Jangar,” he said brusquely. “And douse that light. Lest we attract more unwanted attention.”
DAWN BROKE WITHOUT fanfare, casting off the cloak of impenetrable night. Yala felt Jangar’s gentle nudge, waking her from a fitful slumber. By the look of things, he’d kept watch throughout the night. She remembered not the hour at which she finally faltered, only the feeling of heavily burdened limbs that could move not another step. Jangar, sensing her weakness, had found them a safe place to rest—a refuge high above the forest floor.
Yala stretched her arms and yawned cat-like, then peered carefully over the lip of the massive bole that cradled them. In the golden rays of coming dawn, the jungle was an emerald-hued vista, broken only by billowing clouds of silver mist and the crowns of distant mountains. No longer did she see the cavernous black of the night-veiled forest floor. The view from the giant tree was not one of horror, but of the sublime.
“Are you ready?” asked Jangar, standing. “We have far to go.”
“Will we reach the Tharn soon?”
“It is possible, but I think not. This part of the jungle is unfamiliar to me. Far from my usual hunting grounds.”
“How did you come so far?”
“I am searching for someone.”
“You are? Who?”
“She is family.”
“There is another lost out here like me?”
“No, not lost. She is hunting too.”
Yala stood too, carefully balancing herself upon the thick branch with her naked feet.
“You mean there is another like you out there?”
“No,” said Jangar. “Not like me. But kin nonetheless.”
“What is she hunting?”
“The Ur-men. She hates them more than even I, for the slaying of her mother and father.”
“That’s terrible…” said Yala just as her stomach snarled.
“Come, I will find you food and drink. Then we must be on our way. We are still in Thok’s domain. I can smell his presence here.”
Yala shuddered at the thought of all those teeth.
“But how do we get down?” she asked, gazing downward from that dizzying height.
“That, Yala, is the easy part.”
Jangar pulled from the branch a thick, fibrous cord of vine. The rope was fleshy, but firm. He tested the line with his natural-born strength and found the vine would stretch, but would not break. Satisfied, he tossed it over the edge and into the lower canopy below.
“You mean…?”
He nodded. “Grab hold and let your weight guide you down. Use your grip to slow the descent. Watch.”
Jangar placed both feet firmly against the bark and leaned back, snaking the vine through his hands. Without another thought, he pushed from the relative safety of the tree branch into a controlled fall. She watched as his bulk grew smaller, then vanished completely within a tumult of gemstone leaves.
Yala’s heart pounded in her throat, but she knew there was no other choice, no alternate path back to the ground. Before taking up the vine, she looked to her meager dress, tattered and travel-stained, which was all that remained of her temple vestments. She tugged it away, exposing her slender, shapely form. She wrapped the torn silks about her soft hands and grabbed hold the cord. Mimicking Jangar’s every movement, albeit unpracticed and clumsily, Yala too descended from the treetop hideaway.
The earth raced up to greet her. Yala gripped tight the vine, slowing her fall, but even through her silks, she could feel the bit of the knotted rope. Clenching shut her eyes, she barred away the reeling vision. She bit too her lip, stifling a scream. She did not want to show fear in the presence of Jangar, nor did she wish to alert any beast that might be stalking nearby.
Yala struck the ground with a lurch, not painful, but forceful enough to send her sprawling.
Picking herself up, she wiped away the jungle grime from her arms, then ran her slim finger through her night-black hair. It was then that she felt Jangar’s eyes upon her.
She met his gaze with a sly grin.
“You’ve not seen a woman before, wild man?” She rested her hands upon the curve of her hip, bending slightly to accentuate her form. “Never have I seen a civilized man stare as you do now. They are lustful and greedy. You look as though you’ve seen a goddess.”
Jangar’s eyes lingered a moment longer, then he tore himself away.
“We move now. Travel is safer during the day. Let’s not waste it.”
4
Paradise
YALA COULD NEVER have imagined the myriad forms which life assumed in this riot of steaming forest. Rainbow-hued birds flitted through the treetops, glistening like jewels in rays of white sunlight. Reptiles slithered and slunk through the undergrowth and upon the hides of great trees. There were insects too, thrumming their wings in heaving swarms. While it was all so wondrous, Jangar reminded her often that anything in this jungle might spell a quick and painful death.
Biting flies and ants might sap a body of blood or strip it of flesh, leaving naught but husk and gore-slick bone. Silent serpents could set fire to a person’s veins with a single venomous strike. Even certain plant-life hungered for a taste of the living. Then there were the other things, the ancient, the indescribable, those shadows that lurked in the jungle’s deepest, darkest corners.
“Like Thok?” she asked.
“Worse yet,” was Jangar’s only reply.
Yala shuddered at the thought.
They traveled for a time in silence, the world a verdant blur. So dense was the forest that no landmarks could denote the passage of miles. Even time betrayed the senses, for the landscape beneath the canopy seemed trapped in a constant state of twilight.
Yala’s feet verged nigh on blistering, and she was more exhausted than she had ever felt before—even after the most fervent temple rites. Jangar had passed her bulbous fruit that was at once sweet and sour. It slaked both hunger and thirst for a time, but the sensation of fullness had faded, and her throat grew dry despite the sodden air.
“Is it much farther, Jangar?”
A long, unsettling moment passed before he answered.
“I do not know.”
“What do you mean? I thought you knew the way.”
“As I said, this place is strange to me. But so long as we continue eastward, we will find the river eventually.”
“East? Is that the direction we walk?” asked Yala. “How can you tell? This all seems the same to me.”
“You don’t feel it, then? The jungle floor slopes downward toward the Tharn. That is how I know.”
Yala looked at the earth between her mud-stained toes and saw nothing. This Jangar must truly be one with the jungle to sense such detail.
Time moved slowly; its passage only recognizable by the mounting heat of the day. There came a moment when Yala began to question Jangar’s understanding of the deep forest. She reminded herself that even the sage’s collected knowledge of the jungles of Zan-Tar was scanty at best. This was the realm of ape-men, wild beasts, and whatever viscous life might find a home in this awful, reeking place.
She should be so lucky to have found herself in the company of Jangar, who fit not one of those descriptors.
“Wait,” ordered the wild man suddenly. “Do you hear that?”
Yala heard nothing save for the cacophony of insects, birds, and sentient flora.
“I hear nothing. What is it? Have we been followed?”
“No, not that.” The assurance was blunt, but did little to quell Yala’s fear. “Follow me. Be quick about it.”
Jangar jogged ahead, though even his moderate pace was difficult for the priestess to maintain.
“Where are we going?” she called.
“Do you hear it now?”
Yala listened to the jungle, attempting to discern whatever revelation Jangar chased.
“I hear nothing!” She did not hide her frustration at Jangar’s cryptic commands.
“Do not hear, Yala. Listen.”
Yala frowned at the response, reminding her all too well of the temple priest’s admonishments. Quickly, she shook away the bitter memories and attempted to calm her breathing. She listened through the weird birdsong, beyond the thrum of countless beating wings. A new sound came to her, surely the one which Jangar tracked. It was at first a low whisper, then, with each footfall, it grew to a hum, and then a rumble.
The sound was familiar and instantly recognizable. She’d heard it a thousand times passing through Qarn’s Temple Quarter to the teeming bazaars. It was the same utterance that made the great fountains a gathering place for thieves, rogues, and courtly spies, that of rushing water, though it was tenfold to that of any fountain, no matter how grand.
“A waterfall!” she laughed aloud.
“Aye,” confirmed Jangar. “We have found the river Tharn.”
PARTING A CURTAIN of vines revealed a paradise amidst the jungle’s rampant chaos.
A spire of surging foam cascaded from an outcrop of red cliffs. Jungle birds gathered here in droves, bathing and spearing strange fish with needlepoint beaks. The mire of Zan-Tar gave way to beds of soft sand. Ample shade made this oasis welcoming and cool.
“We will rest here,” said Jangar.
“For how long?” Yala asked.
“Only a night. We are deeper into Zan-Tar’s heart than I had guessed. I know of no traders who penetrate the jungle so deeply. Besides, this cataract makes river travel further upstream impossible. We will follow the Tharn south till we find signs of your civilization.”
“How far might that be, Jangar?”
“A day. Maybe five. There is no telling. The traders are a bold lot, I’ll give them that. But their every decision is weighed against coin. Dangerous treks upriver are costly, in both blood and gold.”
“What of the jungle beasts, Jangar? Will they not find us here if we stay?”
“We have traveled far, and I’ve seen no sign of the Ur-Men. Thok prowls here, but without bound offering, I suspect he hunts more suitable prey. Anything else will stay far from our fire.”
“Then I will collect kindling. It is the least I can do.”
Jangar appreciated Yala’s willingness to earn her keep, but saw that she was near exhaustion.
“Drink your fill first. But slowly, so as not to turn your stomach. Bathe and rest your legs. We still have far to go. Much daylight remains, and there will be ample time for gathering wood.”
“What will you do, then, Jangar?”
“Hunt.”
5
The Red Thralls
A RED VEIL was cast upon the Zan-Tar with the sinking of the sun. Night’s nearness acted a signal for all the furtive beasts to scurry back to their dens, their grassy beds, and hidden nests. Soon enough, the already violent jungle would come alive with tooth and fang.
Jangar moved quietly through the bush. No longer did he have his spear, but that did not make him a helpless hunter. With cat-like agility and the mighty arms of an ape, he swung up into the boles of the lowest jungle story. From there, he moved higher until he was certain the floor-dwelling game creatures could not sense him.
Then he played a waiting game.
The ruby-tinged sky had slowly faded to a fiery orange rimmed in deep violet before he caught sight of his prey.
It was a smallish deer-thing. The black blotch pattern along its flanks acted as a natural camouflage when ducked inside the jungle ferns. No use were they now, for the deer was out in the open, self-assured of its safety. A male, by the crown of spikes jutting from its snout and skull, it made no indication that it was being watched.
“I see you,” purred Jangar.
With only a whisper, the wild man swung across a wide gap to a position directly above the deer. Then, knife in hand, he dropped atop the beast like a heavy stone.
The deer crashed to the ground beneath him, kicking frantically against the burden. It trumpeted a mewling cry as Jangar wrapped a muscled arm about its thick neck.
Then, like a scorpion’s sting, Jangar drove home the knife, piercing the animal’s heart.
It flailed weakly for a moment, then stilled.
Jangar stood then, a splash of gore staining his hands. He looked down upon his kill not in triumph or pity, but with great reverence.
“Walk free,” he said, then moved to shoulder the deer.
It took him only a moment to heft the dead to a comfortable place across his broad frame. The deer would slow him little, but the scent of blood would attract other predators. He’d have to move quickly to return to the waterfall camp before night took over the world.
Before departing, he turned back toward a black swatch of jungle and smiled grimly.
“I still see you,” he said. “I will share if you follow.”
From out of the gloom emerged a familiar face. Wreathed in golden hair, a great cat slid into view, tail swishing. She eyed him hungrily with piercing emerald eyes. A ragged scar marred the otherwise untamed, feline beauty of the beast. But this was no jungle panther, obvious by the pair of sickle-shaped fangs that shot downward from her wide mouth.
The saber cat growled at Jangar, low and menacing.
“I’ve missed you, too, sister.”
Then suddenly, the giant cat’s ears perked. She heard something, a sound that even his jungle-trained ears could not. She turned back to the shadows, silent as a ghost.
Jangar wished to follow, for he harbored the same rage and sorrow as she. But neither could he leave Yala alone in this place.
He scanned the jungle’s jade palisades, but saw nothing. Whatever had disturbed his kin, it was either hiding or had already fled.
Without warning, Jangar felt a hard bite upon the cords of his neck. The weight of the deer became suddenly heavy, and he dropped the carcass lest he topple over himself. A hand shot to the sting and returned holding a long dart between two calloused fingers.
“Yorm…” he gasped, uttering the name of his primal god.
Jangar’s vision swam, the world blurring in turn.
From beyond the undulating scene appeared great red gashes, moving in strange mechanical fluctuations.
He spun around to flee, but his limbs were like slime, unable to bear his weight any longer.
Jangar struck the wet earth in a heap, but his willpower refused to flee.
Though they seemed to him more akin to wriggling tendrils, he felt the touch of human hands groping about his bare skin. Jangar lashed out, his human instinct ceding to the inbred animal ferocity imparted upon him by his adoptive kin.
He gnashed and clawed with every fiber of his being, but the effort was all for naught.
With every exertion, Jangar’s fluid sight grew blacker, and he knew it was not the arrival of night. His body was failing, his consciousness drugged to forceful slumber by whatever poison had laced the blow dart he’d plucked from his neck.
Jangar had battled his way across the jungle since his first waking memory; he knew the signs and sounds of struggle well. This ambush, though, was a different thing. As his thoughts finally dissipated, a single haunting question echoed in his vacant mind.
“Why is it so quiet?”
YALA HAD DONE what she had been commanded to do, drinking her fill and lounging a while along the water’s edge. It felt good to do so, but it also made her restless. Knowing that Jangar was prowling the forest in search of sustenance made her feel useless by comparison. She’d fled the temple’s safety, in part, to carve her own way and escape the doting of wrinkled Moon priests and their often-lecherous devotees. Now, she had again found herself in the care of another, with little real agency of her own.
Yala’s eyes were absently drawn to the jungle’s edge, checking every few moments to see if Jangar had returned. Despite the chaffing, she understood all too well that she would not survive this emerald hell without his aid.
As the sun’s copper disc sank below the blade of distant knife-edged peaks, and stars began to shine through the spreading quilt of night, there came a distant sound. The deep, guttural roar of Thok caused even the twilight to shudder.
She looked to the spiraling horn she’d stolen from the slain witch-man. It was simple in construction, plain and unadorned save for a rawhide thong that served as a sling. Yala mentally scanned the half-remembered scrawling of wild things she’d studied in secret within the temple vaults. She recalled phantasmagorical images of four-armed apes, man-sized birds, and reptilian swine, but nowhere could she place the beast to which this horn might have once belonged.
Suddenly, Yala felt the sensation of eyes roving the bare curve of her back. A smile crossed her full lips, and she turned to face Jangar, who had surely returned with a meal.
The grin she bore quickly fled, replaced by an awful scream.
Standing at the edge of the serene jungle refuge was not the burly shape of Jangar, the wild man. Instead, she found six figures, each identically robed in crimson garments, not unlike the priests she knew all too well. Their hands were hidden beneath great overlapping folds, and their faces were barely visible, half-hidden by tall, conical cowls. The worst part, however, was their silence. Statue still, they were almost unreal in their inhuman placidity.
“Who are you?” she cried out.
Only jungle noises and the rush of falling water met her ears.
“Do not come any closer! I am not alone!”
In her bones, Yala knew this was an empty threat, for she had never felt so alone as she did so now.
One of the priests moved then, not as a living thing, more an automaton than a creature of flesh and blood. Pale hands placed something to a flatly drawn mouth. In the growing dark, she could hardly see detail.
There was a soft puff, a hiss, then something painful pricked her naked breast.
6
Prisoners of the Mind Mage
JANGAR OPENED HIS eyes to an ocean of stars.
Countless beacons of brilliant white danced around him like diamonds strewn aimlessly about black velvet. Clouds of cosmic dust billowed wildly in towering iridescent storms. Between the myriad sights of celestial sublime existed only the unfeeling vacuum of absolute abyss. For a seemingly endless gulf of time, Jangar was still, floating untethered through empty space.
Then came the presence of the Other.
“I know I am not alone,” he said, bluntly. “Show yourself.”
“Then your jungle senses are astute, even here.” The voice was deeply resonant, even in this endless void. “Fascinating.”
From within a womb of roiling stardust emerged a gleaming figure of earthly perfection. The Other was tall, rising head and shoulders above the giant Jangar. His shoulders were broad, musculature more refined than even an artist’s rendered marble. Though this newcomer bore the aspect of a wizened patriarch, resplendent with flowing beard and regal locks, the naked body was sexless.
“Are you a god?” asked Jangar.
“To humankind, perhaps,” answered the Other. “But alas, I am not.”
“Then what? And why have you brought me here? Where are those fiends who darted me whilst unaware?”
“Do not fret about my thralls, wild man. They are of no consequence to you, now. They are only my messengers, invitation bearers, if you will.”
“Why do you not greet supposed guests yourself?”
The Other’s starlit eyes lowered then, as if wounded or ashamed.
“Humans tend to flee from my aspect, I am afraid. To be confronted in the waking world by a godling, such as I, it melts the minds of lesser beings.”
There was no threat in the Other’s words. These things were spoken with an aloofness that betrayed no sense of caring or thought. This was simply the reality for such a being of higher order.
“The waking world, you say? Then I am asleep, and this dream?”
“What is life if not a dream, forest child?”
“If life is dream, then I too am dream. Hence, life and dream are the same.”
The Other pondered this phrasing, surprised to hear the words of a thinking man where he saw something barely more than primal beast.
“Your animal brain is sharp, not unlike your frame. You could be useful to me.” The Other’s eyes roved Jangar’s, the corner of its mouth curled in an appraising grin. “Your thews are mighty, and your animal instincts are unlike those of your kin. Yes…very useful, indeed.” These last words slipped softly from closed lips, as though Jangar had not been meant to hear them.
“I am my own man, stranger. Not some tool to be used at a whim of an unnamed god.”
“You misunderstand my intentions. What I offer is not servitude, but partnership.”
“In what?”
“I can sense your thoughts, Jangar. As your ears hear the crawling of furtive beasts, your nose picks up their scent. I know of the vengeance you seek, for the deaths of the creatures you call family. I can grant you this, and so much more.”
“And in return?”
“Gods, or what to men are gods, at times require their vengeance too, Jangar. I would ask only that you aid in the acquisition of mine.”
“And what then? When all blood-debts have been repaid?”
The Other’s smile grew wide then, the pits of it glistening orbits alight with inner fire.
“Anything you desire, of course. Together we can topple dynasties, found kingdoms, and forge empires.”
Jangar shook his head subtly, immediately rejecting these thoughts of conquest.
“These victories of which you speak, they would not be mine. Hollow offerings as payment for a lifetime of slavery. Besides,” growled Jangar. “There is but one thing I desire now.”
The Other glowered down at Jangar. Galaxies roared ablaze in the God-thing’s dark eyes, unused to the sting of rejections—a wound hundredfold more dire from a being as lowly as the jungle-born wild man.
“And what is that?”
“I wish to return home. To the jungle of my rearing.”
For a long moment, the Other simply stared at Jangar, as if waiting for him to name some grander prize. When nothing more was named, some new emotion flashed in those cosmic eyes—disappointment? Contempt, more like.
The Other laughed coldly, a peal of thunder in the abyss.
“Very well, jungle man. You may have your wish.”
YALA PEELED OPEN her weighted eyes on a darkened, ill-lit room. Beneath her was the soft, cushioned dais. Beside her stood two men in crimson robes, silent and remarkably still. They made no start at her waking, not even turning an eye. She leaned closer, studying their faces, and recoiled in horror.
There was no light in their eyes.
So vacant was their sight, she imagined their minds must be the same.
“Do not fear, priestess Yala,” came a disembodied voice. “You are my guest, and I bear you no ill will.”
Yala’s sight adjusted slowly to the ghost light. The chamber was vast and constructed of no material she had ever seen before. Every surface seemed smooth as obsidian glass, so dark that even the eerie glow of the chamber skirted its touch. Spaced evenly about the crown of the circular vault were greenish orbs, the source of the weakly throbbing incandescence. They pulsed in a strangely even rhythm, like breathing lungs or beating hearts.
“Where are you?” she asked of the guttering dark. “I can’t see you.”
“Perhaps this will help.”
Slowly, the pale green glow turned brighter, shining now like sickly stars.
Yala balked, suddenly realizing there were far more present than the two paltry guards. The chamber itself was rimmed in a congregation of red priests—and others. Among the gathered faces, she saw pitiful Ur-men as well. Worse yet, she counted a dozen visages hailing from the caravan she’d come with. All these figures were seemingly robbed of sight, personality, and consciousness, as evidenced by their blank, milky stares.
She turned to the center of the room, where stood an enormous black monument, the finely hewn figure of a stately man in voluminous robes. Far too familiar with temple sanctums, Yala immediately recognized this as the aspect of some ancient and, as-yet-unknown god.
“Are you…?”
“Yes, Yala. I am here.”
“But how?”
“Are not all things possible through works of the divine? It seems to me you might know this best of all.”
Yala had heard of initiates convening with gods through idols and effigies. She had seen priests and fellow priestesses fall into babbling stupor as their minds and tongues grappled with illumined inspiration. She knew of sorcerers and demonic pacts. All these things were real to her, but to commune with godhead herself was something she’d never imagined.
“Why am I here?” she asked meekly. “Where is Jangar?”
“Jangar is safe, for now. As for you, my daughter, I have brought you to me because I am in dire need of your aid.”
“My aid? How could I be of any use to a god? If that is, in fact, what you are.”
“I sensed your insight, Yala. Your knowledge. You thirst for it. I can show you more about the multiverse than you have ever dreamed, child. All I ask from you is a small assistance.”
The voice that echoed in her mind was calm, reassuring, yet she did not trust it. There was something about the way in which it spoke that gave her pause. There was a desperation there, one all too familiar, readily recognizable in herself.
“But what of them?” Yala gestured to the silent observants.
“Pay no heed to them, priestess. Their minds are empty vessels, filled only with my whims. They are cattle. You, my girl, are a wolf among them.”
Her stomach churned at this admission, but it was not unlike a god to treat lesser beings with such contempt. But to hear herself compared to others in such a way, it was a gratifying confirmation of her secretive, innermost thoughts.
Before she could think through her next actions, Yala’s lips parted, and she began to speak.
“What is your name, strange god? And what knowledge do you offer me?”
Yala sensed that the central statue smiled at her inquiries.
“I am Zaarthaax, child of Qarn. And the secrets which I offer run far deeper than those your priests sought to hide from your prying eyes. I gift to you the wonders of deep time, of dying stars, and unimaginable gulfs. My wisdom, Yala, is infinite…and yours should you wish it. Allow me to show you but a taste…”
THE COSMOS DISSIPATED.
The effervescent kaleidoscope of otherworldly starscape had vanished, replaced by something immediately recognizable but equally illusory. Where once planets lolled aimlessly through void space against a backdrop of stars, there sprouted great trees and dense tropical foliage. There was animal life, as well, or some facsimile thereof. Jewel-toned birds flew through dense canopy. Smallish ape-things squatting amongst tiered boles. Scaled lifeforms slithered through the shadows.
The space about Jangar was verdant and green, but his jungle this was not.
The world now was a well-crafted painting inked by an artist who’d never felt the fronds, the fetid air, or witnessed the vibrant, noxious life. There was no scent of forest rot. No drone of innumerable insectoid forms. The light, too, felt wrong. It was not the oppressive embrace he’d long since grown accustomed to. Instead, the light was distant, the fading memory of a passionate caress.
Worst of all, there was no sound.
This place moved in mockery of the jungle’s festering riot. It was plain, impassive, and bored.
“Is this the best you can do, godling?” The wild man laughed in defiance.
There was no reply.
“I know you are out there!” he called again. “I sense it, just as before. You think you can fool me? I, who has known the jungles since his birth?”
The Other’s voice echoed coldly, stripped of all pretense.
“Ungrateful cur.”
“Ungrateful? What have you offered that I cannot earn by my hand alone? You oversell yourself, I think.”
“What have I offered? Might! Unchecked power!”
“At the cost of chains.”
Jangar laughed again, mirthless and ripe with scorn.
The Other roared, a psychic shriek that shattered the illusory jungle construct.
Jangar awoke to a black, empty cell. The material was alien and smooth, more like glass than stone. A frail green light beamed above, but he had no time to study.
Into the chamber scurried a pair of red-dressed priests, their minds wiped clean as evidenced by their vacant stares—slaves of this mind mage, no doubt. No words were spoken between the guards, but they wielded the weapons impassively, as if puppets to an unseen puppeteer.
Jangar pounced upon them, ripping and tearing with claw-like hands.
He tore from the grip of one priest a naked blade. He sheathed it in the heart of the other. Both men died silently, just as they’d arrived.
Jangar could feel the Other’s mounting rage. It radiated about the strange space like a hum.
He smiled in grim satisfaction.
From beyond the cell door, there came the sound of drumming footsteps—more mindless guards, no doubt.
Jangar pulled free the sword from the dead man’s chest.
“Let them come,” he snarled aloud to the Other. “We will meet again soon. In the flesh.
YALA’S EYES GAPED at the wonders poured into her mind like wine.
Visions of interstellar space flooded her brain, whisking her away in the glistening roil. Shapes coalesced in the tumult, man-like, but beacons of unblemished human perfection. These were gods, she knew, just like the carven figure of Zaarthaax before her.
These gods wielded unimaginable magics, shaping crystalline cities from storms of cosmic dust. Great ships of silver metal darted through the air about shimmering structures that scraped at the belly of firmament itself. In chambers of translucent ice, Yala saw these gods mold new forms of life with their very hands. Through portals rent in the body of the universe, they studied strange and wonderful outer worlds where time and natural law had no place.
From these other dimensions, the gods retained technologies and spellcraft incomprehensible to man. The most ancient of temple scrolls hinted at such alternate realities and cosmic truths, but never could Yala have guessed at the true nature of their marvels.
But there were, as well, consequences to this deep probing. The portals themselves were both entry and exit, bridging the gap between the spaces.
And something came through.
So terrible was this concept that even when guided by Zaarthaax’s steady hand, Yala could not interpret the scene. It was as though a living chaos poured forth, devouring the realm in which the gods resided.
Yala’s grinning lips mutated into an awful, noiseless scream as she witnessed in utter horror the carnage this chaos wrought.
“Make it stop,” she managed to utter weakly. “Please make it stop.”
“No,” spoke Zaarthaax. “You must see.”
A single god became the focal point of her reeling vision. Through the dying world it fled, finding refuge in a sphere of black glass. At command, the bubble plummeted through space-time, careening unchecked through countless realities, till finally coming to violent rest amidst a broad, marshy plain.
Yala recognized the familiar dance of her own Sun and Mergo, mother moon, as countless ages sped before her. The marsh was consumed by a fungal forest. She watched as wriggling forms pulled themselves from the primordial mire, transforming into all manner of unseemly creation. She witnessed the great migration of humans to the wilds of northron Thuul. The arrival of Atlantean galleys. The subsequent fall of humanity’s greatest empire. Slowly, the remnants of glorious civilization ceded to heathen stone-age tribes and heaving glaciers of sentient ice.
Then all that remained was Thuul, last bastion of a dying epoch.
And Zaarthaax.
For Yala knew now that she had seen the arrival of this outer god upon her own primeval Earth.
“It is time to decide, child,” said Zaarthaax. “Will you accept my gifts?”
Yala thought about the forces which this god could teach her to control. With these at her fingertips, the knowledge of infinite universes could be hers. Truths beyond the blasphemies of even the Black Libraries of Gith, or Aam-Tho’s Onyx Enchiridion, would be hers.
Yet, the prospect was utterly terrifying.
Despite her delving, she knew well the priests of Mergo did not lie when they told her some secrets were not meant for humankind.
“And what must I do for you?” she asked.
“Be my vessel, Yala. A simple enough transaction. This orb has become a prison to me across all these long ages. Allow me a seat on the throne of your mind. Carry me away from this cage.”
“In return…?”
“You have seen for yourself the sorceries I command. I can teach you these. And soon, dear girl, you will walk on worlds as well.”
Yala’s baser wants so desired the offerings of Zaarthaax, but the natural fibers of her being struggled against them.
“You must decide, Yala,” urged the god. “Now.”
“Why now?”
“Time is short. My offer will not stand forever.”
“What do you mean? You have lived here all this while. What is a little more time to such a god?”
Zaarthaax seemed hesitant, reluctant to reveal something it had kept hidden.
“I am dying, Yala,” it said, a sort of sadness heavy on the words.
“Dying? How? Why? You didn’t show me this.”
“I cannot reveal every secret, girl. Not yet. If you accept then…”
“Why did you now show me this?”
“You must decide! Do it now!”
A searing wound shot through Yala’s mind. Her pain-wracked scream ripped away Zaarthaax’s extraterrestrial displays. She was in the circle chamber again, straddled before the ebony visage of an alien god.
Suddenly, there rang the sound of sword strokes and a bestial growl.
From some black corridor a blood-drenched figure emerged. Gone was Jangar’s outward humanity, now replaced with the aspect of an untamed predator. He stalked low, snarling with each footstep. His golden eyes fell to her.
“Yala!” he howled. “Away from that thing!” He pointed his dripping blade to center of the chamber.
Yala turned, expecting the great icon of Zaarthaax. Instead, she looked up a visage of horror.
7
Clash of the Titans
NO GOD DWELT in this place.
It harbored only demons.
Gone was the mighty idol of human perfection. In its place drifted silently a misshapen travesty of flesh. Nowhere did Yala find the finely molded frame she saw before. In its stead was a weak, half-born frame floating limply above a raised dais. Frail limbs hung lank from a vaguely human shape, useless and weak. Atop the pliant trunk squatted an unseemly, bloated cranium wrapped in pulsating veins. Whatever features its face bore were partially hidden by the obscene mass of brain space. Even so, Yala sensed the psychic menace pressed upon her.
“Take her!” commanded the godling.
In response, the silent guards rushed inward. Some carried dirks and daggers, others swords and axes. Others yet groped outward with only bare hands.
The priest-guards nearest Yala fell about her.
She screamed, then shot a hand to the tied pouch at her belt. Yanking free the purse, she gave it a violent shake, agitating the glow-spores within. The fungal powder flared bright white, a brilliant, flickering flash.
The coming horde balked at the striking luminescence; even their sightless eyes were blinded by the blaze.
In the chaos, she’d not had time to properly shield her own vision. Stars danced about her gaze, adding to the confusion.
Suddenly, she felt a firm grasp about her arm. Yala gasped, but a reassuring voice met her ears.
“It is I, Yala. Jangar. Hurry, we must leave this place.”
“And go where, barbarian?” Zaarthaax burbled a disgusting laugh. “Do not listen to this beast-man, Yala. There is nowhere to run that I cannot find you. Join me!”
“No!” she spat. “I will not!”
Jangar tugged at Yala’s arm, urging her forward.
Her ploy had been clever, but Zaarthaax’s servants recovered quickly from the glare.
Dragging her along, they made for the doorway from which he had entered the chamber.
An enraptured Ur-man struck out at them with a cleaving ax as they passed.
With the flick of his captured sword, Jangar lopped away the ape-man’s hand. The ax clattered to the floor. The creature reeled in silence as the blade swung around, biting deep into its corded neck.
The portal was but a bound away now. Yala hoped desperately that a passage to escape would meet them on the other side. She knew well that Jangar wished the same.
“Run, Yala! Hurry!”
Jangar shoved her toward the gateway, but suddenly it was gone. No door had swung shut. The opening had simply vanished. The pair slammed into a thick, unyielding plate of glass.
Zaarthaax scoffed again.
“You cannot escape me here, little ants. I am the master all within this dome.” The mental speech assumed a derisive tone. Zaarthaax was self-assured in his dominance of this domain. “But I am a gracious master. I will offer you another chance at my bargain. One of you may leave here, so long as I accompany you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Yala. The thralls stalked closer, moving ever toward them with their lurching, mechanical gait. “Just one of us?”
“You heard me, girl. I can only inhabit one of you. I have no need for two minds, two bodies.”
“And what of the other?”
“Neither of you is without usefulness. Jangar’s strength is mighty, as is your mind. While less honed as a mind-slave, there remains much worth.”
“I’d rather die,” hissed Yala.
“And you already have my answer, demon,” roared Jangar.
“Very well.”
The thralls rushed in and Jangar leapt to meet them.
The wild man’s fury was a sight to behold.
Like a blood-crazed tiger, he rained death upon the thralls. The sword moved as an extension of his own body, meting grievous blows upon his mindless adversaries. Great gouts of red rushed forth, spilling from caved pates, and torn throats.
But there remained too many for one man, even one so wild as Jangar, to fend off.
She watched in horror as mindless automatons sliced at Jangar’s exposed flesh. He met their blades with deft parries, swords ringing like brazen gongs in response. Still, the others landed glancing blows, sapping the jungle warrior of his strength.
Yala remembered something then. Her hand moved again to her side, seeking the touch of the horn she’d carried from the Ur-man’s camp.
“What are you doing, girl?” The words hammered in her mind, meant only for Yala alone. “Do you not know I read your every thought?”
“Then you know already who will answer my call!”
The bloated face of Zaarthaax twisted in a fit of petulant rage.
“Seize her!”
Yala pressed her lips to the horn’s narrow mouth, and blew deeply.
The sound that erupted from within was no clarion call, but the primal roar of an ancient jungle god.
THE ROAR REVERBERATED through Jangar’s bones, a chilling sound. So resonant was the peal that, for a brief moment, he saw a glimpse of clarity in the minds of the enslaved.
Yala called again.
Again.
The thunderous echo shook the innards of the ebon dome. Even the alien mage shuddered at the howl.
When the final blare faded, Yala was left panting from her exertions.
And the whole world waited.
The quiet lingered, almost uncomfortably long. Then, there came a distant answer.
Even through the dome’s obsidian shell, the far-off fury of summoned Thok was palpable. Its footfalls mounted, growing heavier and faster on their course. The ferocity in its proclamations rattled the glassy walls of the alien temple.
“Kill them!” shrieked Zaarthaax.
The thralls rushed inward, driven by a fire subdued before. Jangar leapt aside a flurry of threshing blows. He dove across the flagstones, rolling beneath the disemboweling thrust of a spear.
Brushing away the point, he cracked the shaft with a downward cut.
The spearmen, undaunted, reached for him with clawing hands.
Jangar split the red priest down the middle.
The man keeled over quietly, fondling the pile of spilt innards at his midsection.
He saw then a pair of servants rushing toward Yala. Neither were the red-robed thralls nor the yoked Ur-men. He’d seen their faces before, locked in horror behind a cage of bone. He’d freed them once before, but now the only solace he could offer was that of quick death.
Jangar plunged sword tip between the broad shoulders of one mind-robbed porter. He cut down the other, a merchant by his dress and build, with a sharp sweep.
Yala gasped as she saw the familiar men fall still upon the polished floor.
Then, there was a terrible crack in the jet-black sky. Beams of golden light pressed through, then a shock of deep jade—the jungle returning to reclaim the darkened space.
A great ragged gash appeared suddenly, splitting the height of the black dome in twain. Framed within this jagged chasm was the summoned god, Thok. The tyrant-lizard shoved its heaving snout within and bellowed a deep, guttural roar.
It had come to receive an offering.
Instead, it found a feast.
The gargantuan beast burst wholly through the makeshift entry, forcing itself within. Immediately, the beast set itself upon the task of consuming all that fled its presence. In great, wrenching gulps, Thok devoured the thralls that beat with futility at its scaled feet.
“There!” Jangar called to Yala, indicating the fresh exit. “Go, now!”
Yala started, but a red thrall hooked her by the horn’s leather thong. Her scream was cut short as she jolted backward, striking hard the ground.
Jangar rushed to her, splitting the cord with a sword stroke.
The priest raised a dirk, readying it to strike the girl’s heart.
Freed now from the bond, she scurried away.
The dagger struck stone.
Jangar’s sword whirled with blinding speed, the thrall’s severed head rolling from bloody stump.
A darker shadow fell over them as Thok stomped erratically across the dome, driven not by hunger but ecstasy.
The wild man swept Yala from the flagstone. Bearing her in his muscled arms, he dashed away just as Thok’s giant claw smashed down atop the space they’d just occupied. Lifting the foot again, Jangar saw in its place naught but a crimson smear and the ivory shards of the shattered horn.
Jangar, Yala in tow, made quickly for the opening.
This was Thok’s domain now.
ZAARTHAAX DOVE HEADLONG into the reptile’s mind but found naught but animal instinct, divine in its unfettered purity.
With psychic tendrils, he probed the undulating folds of its meager brain. It found nothing there to which his whims might grasp.
For the first time since floundering upon this sodden rock, Zaarthaax felt true terror.
“No!” Zaarthaax wailed. “Leave this place! Leave me be!”
His mental pleading was ineffectual, naught but biting flies in the face of this primordial being.
The last vision beheld by timeless Zaarthaax was that of gnashing teeth.
8
Return to Civilization
DAYS LATER, FATIGUED by jungle flight, Yala arrived at a frontier port in the escort of Jangar.
From a ledge overlooking the river Tharn, she studied the merchants and porters with quiet glee. Yala found it subtly ironic that once she fled the high walls and decadent courts of Qarn for this untamed expanse, only to find herself fleeing now in the opposite direction, in similar company.
“What will you do now, Yala?” asked Jangar.
She pondered the question thoughtfully, unsure of an exact answer. It was true that she had discovered well-guarded secrets deep within the Zan-Tar. Many of which she was hesitant to share. Still, there must be some use for the terrible truths she’d learned.
“Perhaps I will seek further tutelage. Study beneath some arcane master.”
Jangar grinned.
“You’ve not learned your lesson, then? Eh, priestess?”
“Maybe I have simply not learned enough. What about you, Jangar? Where will you go?”
“I have left the task incomplete. I will see it done.”
Jangar turned back toward the jungle. There came then a startling roar, not reptilian or the howl of apish Ur-men, but predatory and feline. Yala watched Jangar’s smile grow wider.
“What was that?” asked Yala.
“Family,” said Jangar. “And she has found the scent.”
JANGAR
WILL
RETURN IN…
CITADEL OF THE WINGED QUEEN
I hope you enjoyed JANGAR’s first outing. Next week, I will release the second entry in the JANGAR series, coinciding with the eBook’s release. Subscribers will access the third JANGAR story one week prior to the eBook release, as well as receive a coupon code to download the eBook from Payhip for FREE. The eBook editions include an Author’s Note on the inspirations for that particular story, as well as some insight into my own writing process. Subscribers will also have access to another complete short story, and soon, monthly serial chapters of a complete Adventure novel.
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